Pandora's Legacy
by Yomi
Summary: Illumi has retired, left Kukuru Mountain, and no longer works as an assassin. He just wants to get on with his new life but a madman's delusions threaten the world, and together with old acquaintances, extended family, and people he'd prefer to have nothing to do with, he must locate Pandora's Legacy or else there'll be no retirement to enjoy.
1. Prologue: The End

**TITLE: PANDORA'S LEGACY  
**

**AUTHOR: **Yomi**  
**

**RATING: **T

**Disclaimer:** Hunter x Hunter is copyrighted by Yoshihiro Togashi, Shounen Jump Weekly, Shueisha and Nippon Animation

**SUMMARY: **(Post Chimera Ant arc) Following a long standing agreement with his father, Illumi has retired and left Kukuru Mountain, sworn never to work as an assassin again. Despite Illumi's determination to lead a new life, old acquaintances, family, and the powers that be, just won't let him rest yet - not when some madman's finally fallen off the ledge and threatens to bring the world on a collision course with mutually assured destruction. Pandora's Legacy, whatever that is, may be able to save them all, and against his will, Illumi is dragged in with everyone to search for it in time before it's too late.

**AUTHOR's NOTES: **It's been years since my last fanfic, and for a dreadful moment, I thought I had lost interest in fandom, in creative writing. I had another idea for a Fem!Illu fic but have set it aside in favour of this one, once a collection of ideas finally bundled in the one story. Please enjoy, excuse the odd typographical error here and there, and kindly leave me some feedback.

**PROLOGUE**

**"The end"  
**

Sunlight filtered through the water streaked panes of his bedroom window. At its zenith during noon, the sun flooded his room with light so bright and white that the bleached and starched sheets on his bed seemed to glow.

Illumi's movements were slow and deliberate; he took care not to disturb the inch thick layer of dust which had accumulated during his absence. This was the last time he would ever visit his bedroom, and he preferred to leave it in a state as if he had never been there, to extinguish any trace of his presence.

There wasn't much in terms of possessions that he could take with him, the outfits he had never worn outside Kukuru Mountain, and the odd throwing knife and dagger that he had abandoned about he gained mastery of his pins. Rather, a horde of old, fractured and broken memories hung suspended in the air, its invisible weight both suffocating and crushing at the same time. It was why he hated this room so much. The idea that he was leaving this place was good was the only thing holding him together.

Dustmotes were sent dancing in dizzying turns and spirals in the air as Milluki ambled in and took a seat at the foot of the bed. At first, he watched Illumi pick through his drawers in silence, but the tight line of his lips and the tension as he held his back upright and hands fisted on his knees meant he could not hold his peace for long.

"There's still a year to go…" he murmured with a battered hope that had already tasted defeat.

Illumi looked up, pausing midway through examining a set of dirks that was encrusted with dried blood, and held his brother's gaze until the later sighed and discovered that the bare wooden floors were of great interest.

No, that was not fair. His brother deserved an answer. "There is still a year to go," he agreed. "But this is _my_ choice. If you were in my position, Millu, you'd understand. _I_ am the one who decides when it ends, not grandfather, not father, and not the – " he choked on the last words and found himself having to gulp down great big breaths to calm his racing pulse as pins and needles crawled up his face.

"I _do_ understand," Milluki said, his voice distant and very small. All of a sudden, he was a six year old boy again, confused, scared, bitter and angry, an unstable combination of emotions at danger of exploding. "Still doesn't make it better, doesn't make it right."

"This was never 'better' or 'right' from the start." Illumi fought to keep any emotions from infecting his voice, reining in the quavering with brutal effort. "This could have ended in a lot of different ways, most of them with me dead. This is probably…the most _acceptable_ outcome, at least for me anyway."

"No, you are right." Milluki rubbed his eyes thinking he could conceal the wetness that was threatening to spill down his cheeks. "Given the circumstances, this is for the best. Here – I put together the figures for you. You've had a dream run these past four years – the ten godfathers job three years ago was huge, and the last recon you did for Odannon in East Goruto - "

Illumi knew his brother was trying to comfort him. As productive and lucrative as his business had been for the past four years, he couldn't ignore the fact that his finances during his earlier teenage years were pathetic at best, and a liability at worst. It wasn't until he turned eighteen that he 'found his feet', so to speak, and started to generate profit.

"It's a modest sum," he cut short Milluki's optimistic commentary, causing his brother to withdraw into a sullen silence again. "If I don't live extravagantly, I will have a roof over my head, warm clothes to wear and three square meals a day until I'm a very old man."

For that, Milluki had no reply, only an unspoken knowing that his brother would be grappling with other challenges in his new life which would make problems concerning money the last thing on his brother's mind.

The whirrs of the zips as he closed his duffel bag had a dreadful note of finality that made his mouth run dry and the bottom of his stomach fall away. Milluki visibly gulped and tried to affect a reassuring smile which only made him look like a man standing before the firing squad who had still not made peace with himself and was not looking forward to meeting his maker.

Illumi steeled his resolve, hefted the bag onto his shoulder and picked up the folder containing his life's achievements and final pay cheque. "Let's do this."

Milluki arranged the meeting in the dining room where the butlers had already set out cups of tea and multi-coloured macaroons on white bone china saucers. His mother had taken a delicate bite out of out of a blazing orange one, cooed in delight, and then popped the whole thing into her mouth. Meanwhile, his grandfather busied himself with the latest news of the day, thumbing through the broadsheets and lingering for an inappropriate amount of time in the gossip pages.

"Father's not here," Illumi muttered, noting with growing trepidation that his audience had not finished gathering and he was becoming struck with stage fright. Scripted lines and dialogue he had earlier prepared were swept away with laughable ease by a wave of adrenaline, and in the blink of an eye, his mind was an utter blank and base human instincts threatened to take control over reason.

Zeno frowned as he put aside the newspaper. "Something wrong, Illumi?"

"Father's not here," Illumi said again, louder this time, more assertive rather than panicked. "I scheduled this meeting at twelve thirty. He's late."

This time, his mother stilled and looked at him with something resembling burgeoning astonishment. "There's no need to be so uptight, Illumi. Maybe he got tied up with Tsubone. We have a new batch of recruits this week. You should be involved in their training and selection as well."

Illumi swallowed and swallowed again, but the lump in his throat wouldn't go away. Until now, he had no idea how desperately he wanted this meeting over and done with, and every second Silva kept him waiting was a second of anticipation that was shearing away a year in his lifespan.

Zeno's frown deepened. "You are looking a bit pale. What's the matter?"

Damn it. This wasn't the plan. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Everyone was supposed to be here, seated, dispassionate, business-like, and Illumi would announce his intentions plain and clear, and then it would all be _over_.

The moment Silva Zaoldyeck stepped into the dining room was the moment a sharp spike of white hot hate and rage overwhelmed Illumi and left him trembling. At last, he was in the closing act where the arch nemesis finally shares the stage with the hero and there is an epic struggle of life and death and only one person is allowed to be left standing.

The end, the promise of a bitter sweet release.

"You about to head off for another job?" Silva began conversationally, gesturing at his duffel bag as he made himself comfortable at the head of the table. A seat Illumi would never sit in. A seat which Illumi could never even think or dream about sitting in.

Beside him, he heard Milluki's quiet intake of breath that he was too afraid to release in case the slightest tremor would send them all crashing into the pits of chaos.

Yes, at long last, he had made it to the grand finale.

"I'm retiring."

Now there was a polaroid moment. His mother mute with shock, her visor an unresponsive matt black. His grandfather a weather-beaten granite statue, the newspaper laying crumpled and forgotten on the table. His father, the stuff that even nightmares hid from, stoic and unreadable.

It didn't take long for his mother to recover. "Nonsense," she stammered, red glow of her eye darting left and right in search for excuses. "What a ridiculous thing to say. Who on earth put that silly idea in your head?"

"It's not an idea. It's reality. Here are," he began, laying out report after report on the table from the folder Milluki had prepared, "a portfolio of my clients, contacts, assets, safe houses, alternative identities and aliases. This," the next dossier he held up was thinner than he would have liked, "are balance sheets for the past fifteen years of my service. The profits for each year are in blue at the bottom of each page. I am entitled to fifteen percent of the combined total."

Silva made no move to review the documents. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, his eyes steady on Illumi. "Your time is not up yet. Killua hasn't turned sixteen and he hasn't officially inherited this business either."

"I am well aware of the conditions. I am also aware that there is nothing in those conditions preventing me from leaving _before_ either of those events occurred."

"And may I ask what…prompted this sudden decision to retire early?"

"Sudden?" Illumi's eyebrow twitched. The acrid, baiting reply gushed out before he had a chance to bite his tongue. "Surely you didn't expect me to put my life on hold while you, or Killu, took your sweet time deciding how to run _your_ business and live _your_ lives. This is my new account number. The bank is on standby to receive the transfer. Let's get this over and done with."

His father might have said cutting in response, but his mother quickly interceded before father and son ended up at each other's throats. "Illumi, dear, you haven't properly thought this through. If there's anything you're dissatisfied with, let's talk about it. Administration, logistics, division of assignments…" Kikyou's voice held an uncharacteristic tenor of tenderness and sweetness. In another time, in another life, Illumi may have been enchanted and swayed but such a plea now had no effect on the person he was.

He watched as her words, her hope, dimmed and died, and a part of him saw the twisted and ironic justice in that. "I have said all that needs to be said. I have a blimp to catch. I'm just here for my buy-out."

"Your mother is right," Zeno spoke up. To Illumi's surprise, his grandfather appeared genuinely concerned. "You can't make a hasty decision like this. The conditions of your contract say you cannot kill – "

They were dragging this out, each taking a turn to try to erode his resolve until he was nothing more their sniveling, obedient killing machine. Again, the situation was deviating from his plan. "Grandfather, the conditions of my contract are something that no one can know better than I do. Once I leave Kukuru Mountain, I am not allowed to kill for direct or indirect financial reward. I _know_. Father has made _quite_ sure that I know."

Deep, dark lines of a frown furrowed like trenches across the weathered skin. "Then what are you going to do to support yourself out there? You'll be alone with no family to turn to."

"I didn't choose these conditions," Illumi quietly reminded him, and Zeno reacted like he had been slapped across the face. "Once I am no longer a Zaoldyeck, how I live or die will be none of your business." And before his mother could launch into a frenzied rant about respecting his elders, he offered a partial explanation. "I've got it all planned. As soon as I step outside the front door, a rumour will spread through all underworld intel networks that Illumi Zaoldyeck has been killed in action. I will disappear. I will cease to exist. You will never see me again. Hasn't this been what was always intended from the start?"

And then the temperature in the room plummeted, wringing whimpers of fear from Milluki and causing Kikyou to sit bolt upright in alarm.

"There are other ways that I can make you cease to exist," Silva stated with the velvet surety of a predator about to strike the killing blow on its unknowing prey. "_That_ is also how we can wrap this up."

Milluki trembled as if it was his first time in the torture chambers, and he desperately tugged at Illumi's sleeve, babbling pleadings for his aniki to abandon his claim. "He can do it. He _will_ do it. Please, _aniki_, just leave it."

Illumi should have been afraid, should have activated his instincts for self preservation and should have taken his younger brother's sound advice and walked away from the confrontation. Instead, he laughed, mocking, derisive and spilling with a decade's worth of contempt, a sound which sent his nervous mother leaping to her feet. "Oh, how did I know this was coming! You screwed me over when I was twelve, and now you're trying to screw me over again. Have you known a day of honour in your mean, miserable life?"

A fissure rent through the solid ironwood table, loud and violent, as if a giant invisible hand was trying to tear the wood apart with brute strength until it split asunder under the unbearable pressure in an explosion of splinters.

"Stop it!" his mother shrieked, the command sharp and shrill enough to sting his ears. "Just stop it! We are family! Illumi! Stand down this instant."

The tendrils of nen emanating from his father boiled with hostility and it scorched Illumi's skin as it brushed past his cheeks and singed Milluki's t-shirt where his bulk could not be shielded by his older brother's body. Milluki's sobbed audibly as he clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

Illumi felt an ugly smile not his own twist his lips. "Has this always been _your_ plan? Has this always been how you'd imagined things to end? Your firstborn, a mere tool to discard at your convenience?"

"Please, aniki…"

He shook off pudgy fingers attempting to restrain him. "You _owe_ me, Silva, and you damn well know it. So pay me my dues, which I'm sure is spare change to you, and by letting me walk out of here alive today, you will have done something _right_ by me for the first time in fifteen years."

The pupils in his father's eyes had narrowed until they resembled hard, dark chips of flint. The older man's entire body was taut, ready to attack at the first signs of opportunity.

"Ho? What's this?"

Illumi blinked. He then warily eyed his great-great grandfather's shrunken and wizened form almost lost in the doorway, and his mind twisted itself into Gordian knots over the late and unexpected entrance of this player. Maha's neutrality saw him never involved in family affairs, and Illumi had not thought to include him in the final narrative.

The unknowns and uncertainties, coupled with the certain death his father was silently promising, were giving Illumi's stomach the cramps. To everyone else, Maha's presence appeared to be a cautious, if not odd, possibility of relief.

"I am retiring."

"Are you now?" Maha padded up to Illumi with feet clad in limited edition sneakers, and once he got close enough, he peered up into Illumi's determined expression and hummed in interest. "Well, I suppose you are a big boy and you should do what you want. Have you decided what you are going to do?"

"I have it all planned," was all Illumi was willing to divulge. He had no wish to let his father know what he would do with his life once he descended Kukuru Mountain, or just how _long_ his plans had been in the making.

Maha's expression drooped with a touch of disappointment, and he sighed. "Well then good luck to you, young man. I wish you all the best. Have you packed all your belongings?"

"Everything except for my redundancy package – fifteen percent of every dime of profit that I have generated in the past fifteen years. Silva and I had an agreement. Now he's stalling."

"We certainly can't have that. I will make sure we honour the bargain and complete the transaction. How much are you owed?"

Milluki immediately scrambled to retrieve the relevant pieces of paper which had scattered all around the floor and did the sums and calculations. In less than a minute, Illumi watched his bank account bloat and realized that he had taken yet another step towards the tantalizing finishing line.

"Now that's done and I've said my goodbyes, I think I will go and enjoy an afternoon nap." Maha stretched, displaying his utter obliviousness to the conflict between Illumi and his father during the whole time, and gave Illumi a gap-toothed smile. "Take care."

All Illumi could manage was a weak nod.

"In that case," Zeno said, studying the mess made of the dining hall, "I will go and order the servants to clean up. I won't be seeing you out, Illumi. I acknowledge your service to this family, and whatever you choose to do out there, I wish you well."

"No! Grandfather Zeno, how could you be _encouraging_ Illumi to leave!" Kikyou called after Zeno's retreating but unresponsive figure. In the end, she threw her hands up in the air and glared daggers at the remaining occupants in the room. "Fine," she seethed. "Everyone can be selfish and do what they bloody well want without thinking about the consequences. Leave if you must, Illumi, but you listen to me good – if you step outside this mountain today, you are no longer a Zaoldyeck. You are no longer my son. And don't you dare come crawling back begging us to take you in!"

That reaction was to be expected. Illumi let the threats slide past and said nothing, which caused Kikyou to flee the room, sobbing and crying for his grandfather to Do Something.

And Silva turned his back to Illumi. It wasn't new. It wasn't a surprise. Illumi saw it coming from a hundred miles away. The silver-haired man did spare one final, disdainful glance at his eldest child, and said, "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Hope?" Illumi's eyebrows drew together in puzzlement which was not feigned. "You can't possibly believe I have survived all these years by indulging in things such as hope."

Silva looked like he was going to reply with a heated remark, the prelude to a brawl. But the head of the Zaoldyeck household swallowed his anger and he left without another word.

Illumi turned to the last person by his side, and for the first time that day, offered a faint smile. "Walk me to the Gates."

Most of the servants they passed along the track towards the Gates of Trial had no idea of the monumental decision Illumi had made that morning and the stand-off in the dining hall which had come within bare millimeters of violence and bloodshed. Under the heat of the noonday sun, Milluki's breaths were irregular and labored as he fought to keep up with his brother's casual stroll, and Illumi paused just long enough to wave farewell to a naturally suspicious Tsubone as they took a detour to swing by the butler's quarters.

"Bro…aniki…" Milluki called out as he began to fall back.

Illumi stopped and considered Milluki for a long time. There was so much to be said, and so little time. "I'm sorry for everything, Millu, so incredibly sorry that I screwed you up too."

Milluki scowled hard, which proved difficult as he fought for breath, but he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the pain. "It was never your damn fault. I couldn't cope, and they didn't care."

Illumi shook his head. "I was so absorbed with my own problems that I failed to look out for yours. I was the aniki. I should have been there for you – "

"Bullshit. No one was there for you and I could do shit fuck all. And now you're leaving without even spitting in dad's eye to settle the score!"

Illumi laughed and started walking again, much slower this time. "And who was holding me back before telling me to drop it?"

Milluki's jaw nearly unhinged with outrage. He opened and closed it a few times before he could articulate the words. "He was going to kill you. I saved your scrawny ass back there, you blockhead!"

"Sure you did, sure you did," Illumi teased, letting the last of his laughter die off in a chuckle. "You know, I think great-great grandpa knew all along, and maybe even grandfather suspects something."

"I'm more surprised they didn't catch on sooner. A blind drunk in a blackout on planet without a fucking sun could have seen it coming from a mile away. They were complete idiots if they thought they could make you sign that contract and ask you remain loyal at the same time. Fuck 'em all."

"Careful. You are still here and living by their good graces. Millu – "

They had reached the imposing Gates of Trial and stood in its ominous shadow, and despite the pain and ache in Milluki's knees, Illumi knew his brother would endure a million more times the suffering to undo this reality and his imminent departure. He could just imagine Milluki's mind spinning up excuses to hold off the ending. Illumi wouldn't put it past his brilliant genius hacker of a brother to infiltrate the airline ticketing system and change the time and date of his ticket.

"Stop crying, Millu. With your skills, you can find me if you tried hard enough."

"Aniki – "

Without warning, Illumi hugged him tight. "You were my best friend, Millu. You are my best friend. Better than anything I deserved. Never doubt it."

"Never."

"You are the aniki now. Take care of yourself."

"Damnit, I don't care what you say, you'll always be the aniki."

"Live well, Millu, live long and well"

"You too, aniki. You too."

**I-I-I-I**

Milluki spent the next hour after Illumi left sitting in the shade of a tree just a little wayward of the beaten track, staring off into space, determined not to return to the house and caverns underneath the extinct volcano until he had exhausted all his tears.

The gardener must have seen him and called Tsubone, as the pig-tailed servant approached Milluki with an expression of concern on her face.

"Master Milluki, is everything all right?"

Aniki's gone. Aniki's never coming back. What's done is done. Milluki stood up to his full height and stretched. "Tsubone, there's been a change in management," he informed the butler in a brusque tone. "I'm the eldest Zaoldyeck child now, and starting today, I will be reviewing all call logs and assisting father with the finances."

Later, Milluki would laugh at the way the whites of Tsubone's eyes widened beyond the rim of her monocle. "Master Milluki, what about Master Illumi?"

"Aniki is officially dead, you got that? I'm in charge now. Have the kitchens prepare me lunch."

Let her make old dad explain what's happening, Milluki viciously thought to himself. He was about to order a ten litre tub of chocolate ice cream to accompany lunch, but no longer shied away from the fact he been unable to see or touch his own toes for the past fifteen years. "Tell the kitchen staff that I am going on a diet. Put together low calorie meals for me from now on. I can't be aniki if I am rolling around Kukuru Mountain like this."

**I-I-I-I**

Illumi knew the streets of Sumenca like the lines and scars on the back of his hand. Tracing through roads he had walked over hundreds of times, he finally stopped at a modest double-storey brick home and let himself through the gates.

As soon as he opened the front door, a spray of confetti showered him from head to toe and it was accompanied by a boisterous heart-warming cheer from the half dozen occupants within.

A strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around him, and he was only too glad to return the warm embrace.

"Welcome home!"


	2. Chapter 1: Conviction and Resolve

**TITLE:** **PANDORA'S LEGACY**

**AUTHOR**: Yomi

**RATING:** T

**Disclaimer:** Hunter x Hunter is copyrighted by Yoshihiro Togashi, Shounen Jump Weekly, Shueisha and Nippon Animation

**SUMMARY:** (Post Chimera Ant arc) Following a long standing agreement with his father, Illumi has retired and left Kukuru Mountain, sworn never to work as an assassin again. Despite Illumi's determination to lead a new life, old acquaintances, extended family, and the powers that be, just won't let him rest yet - not when some madman's finally fallen off the ledge and threatens to bring the world on a collision course with mutually assured destruction. Pandora's Legacy, whatever that is, may be able to save them all, and against his will, Illumi is dragged in with everyone to search for it in time before it's too late.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Firstly, apologies for the delay in the update. I had most of the chapter done but was stuck on a way to end it. Secondly, thank you to those who have reviewed and shared their thoughts with me. I hope this chapter's focus on Leorio will not disappoint and that you will continue to enjoy the fanfic. For those concerned, this is _not_ going to be a IllumixLeorio fanfic! My inner fangirl simply would not allow that to happen :o)

**I-O-I-O-I**

**Chapter One  
**

**Conviction and Resolve  
**

There was not a cloud in the sky. Leorio squinted up at the incandescent sun blazing so bright, so _hot_, that it withered the heavens around it, searing away the azure and leaving a pale, trembling grey.

In the sweltering heat, Leorio grit his teeth and refused to leave his place in the queue for the cool of the nearby shade. He licked his cracked, chapped lips and tapped his foot on the ground, glaring ahead in determination.

It had been two hours already, and he could finally see the reception to the offices of the aid organization, Global Mission, and their uniformed volunteers and staff rushing back and forth setting up banners and distributing fliers and brochures.

He grimaced. The line was moving so slowly. There were two volunteers outside the building, parked underneath the shade of a tree with nothing but a rickety table, stools for themselves, and a pile of application forms which all people seeking aid would be required to fill in before they could even get someone with a sympathetic ear to listen to their woes.

By the time he reached the front, his heart sank and an incredible heat, tears he realized, welled unbidden in his eyes.

They didn't care. The two volunteers absorbed in their work of collecting completed application forms looked up at him like he was just another poor street urchin amongst the hundreds who had come before him today, his needs no more urgent or exceptional than the masses, just another bland face in the even blander crowd.

"You've got to help! My friend's sick!"

"Him and half the other kids in Judurur are sick with one thing or another. Here's a form."

Leorio slapped away the piece of paper in frustration and slammed his fists onto the table, wishing instead that it was their apathy that he could beat and smash into smithereens. "He's been vomiting and has had a fever for two days and it's getting worse. His stomach was hurting. He couldn't get out of bed this morning. Please, you've got to get a doctor to see him!"

"Hey, you," one of the volunteers glared at him as he clutched his papers to his chest, indignant at last but for all the wrong reasons. "We're short staffed and overworked as it is, and worse, we have to do it in this shitty little hellhole trying to make a difference in your shitty little lives, so why don't you show some gratitude and stop shouting in our faces."

Incredulous, Leorio thumped the table again, making both the adults flinch and shy away. "You're overworked? All you do is sit here and take down names. I bet you've never stepped outside this gated zcompound. And shortstaffed? You've got two dozen people inside those air-conditioned offices preparing for a party when they could be out here actually doing something useful!"

Now he'd done it. With a snap of the fingers, two security guards approached and they menaced over Leorio's lanky form with their well nourished bulk.

"Trouble?" one of them grunted.

Within minutes, Leorio's outburst had undone the efforts of his patience and he was man-handled off the secure premises and thrown back onto the dusty, filthy streets of the Judurur.

"Scram, kid. The President and a bunch of celebrities are coming today and we don't need trash like you hanging around ruining the ambience."

So the aid volunteers were more concerned about their public relations event than doing what they boasted in so many tv commercials, Leorio thought bitterly. Wiping away the tears streaking down his sweat encrusted face, he sprinted back towards the dingy shanty where Pietro lay on a makeshift bed of hessian sacks, waiting for his best friend to bring back a doctor who could cure him of his illness.

Desolate, soulless eyes tracked Leorio as he careered through the labyrinth of alleys, eyes belonging to deformed and crippled children, discarded without a thought after their uses had expired. Kids in Judurur had to fight to survive into adulthood. Because of their size and dexterity, many were sent to the mines, dangerous and hazardous work in near constant darkness. Some were roped into the sweat shops, slaving for eighteen hours a day bent over sewing machines, worked until the skin were worn off their bloody fingertips and their spines were permanently bent into hunches. Others were recruited to sort through electronic waste for parts to reuse, and the exposure to high levels of cadmium, mercury and lead burned through their skin, ate away their muscles and eventually claimed their limbs.

Kids were expendable in Judurur. They could be bought and sold, cheap labour from an ever renewing supply.

Leorio was lucky. He was never properly schooled but he had the smarts. By the time he was eight, he had clobbered together a small portable stall selling souvenirs and everyday he trawled through popular tourist locations in the more respectable and civilized parts of Judurur, using his wits, charm, and all the right words to make the sale. The streets had their fair share of dangers, usually gangs trying to assert control over their territories and running protection rackets, so Leorio soon developed some fair skill with a switchblade and a right hook.

Only today. Blasted. Today, his wits failed him, and in his haste to find help for Pietro, he let his anxieties dry up what charm he could muster.

"Pietro!" he called out as soon as he yanked aside the rusted sheet of corrugated iron which served as the door. The curtains had been drawn tight and the room was dark and heavy with stale air and heat. Leorio left the door open to generate some ventilation from the occasional dry gust of wind and gulped as he lowered himself down onto the floor beside Pietro.

Beads of sweat dotted the young boy's forehead, his dark hair was plastered to his damp forehead and lay in greasy clumps on the sacks' rough material. His wheezed each breath, open mouthed, and punctuated periods of unbearable silence with a piteous moan of pain.

"Pietro," Leorio whispered, laying a hand against the forehead. He immediately snatched it back as if he had been burned. Pietro's skin was on fire, and he seemed to hardly register Leorio's touch. "Hey, Pietro," Leorio gripped the boy's shoulder and gave it a good squeeze. "Wake up. It's midday already. Come on."

He tried to guide his friend up into a sitting position and propped Pietro up against the wall. He patted Pietro's cheek to get his attention. "Open your eyes, buddy. We need to get you changed so I can take you out to see a doctor. Come on."

"…water," Pietro rasped, a sound so weak and fragile that Leorio's insides tensed with dread.

The water pumps were ten kilometers away, otherwise he would have to rely on the taps in the public toilets down the road and the water that came out from those taps were often yellow and cloudy and not fit for a sick person to drink.

He grabbed the plastic milk carton off the kitchen bench and headed out the door. "Thirty five…forty minutes. No, I'll be back in half an hour. Promise. Hang in there, buddy."

Luck finally shined on him that day. As he raced to the outskirts of the city, his feet hardly touching the ground as if they were gilt with the golden winged sandals, he crashed into a man wearing a t-shirt bearing the logo of another charity organization. The Benevolent Sisters of Mercy.

He clutched at the man's arms with the desperation of a boy who had caught a glimpse of grim death hovering over his friend. "Are you a doctor? Are you a doctor?"

"Slow down, boy. Slow down and tell me what's wrong."

"Pete– my friend, he's very sick. He needs a doctor. Please help. Are you a doctor?"

The older man frowned and gently removed Leorio's hands. "I am just a nurse. Our Brothers and Sisters here are a team of nurses administering free polio vaccinations for the next week in Judurur. Have you tried Global Mission."

The curses that came flying out of Leorio's mouth made the older man blanch. "Bunch of no-good bureaucrats, too busy trying to look good for the politicians and celebrity sponsors that they have no time for us."

The nurse nodded in understanding. "Perhaps your friend is not as sick as you believe. Where is he? I will have a look and see if I can help."

On the way back to his dilapidated hut, Leorio recounted Pietro's symptoms from the past two days and how he was worried that the fever didn't seem to be going away and how Pietro hadn't been able to hold down any food for the past day.

"Oh no. He asked for water. The pumps – "

"Don't fret. You can have my bottle, it's just been refilled. Now let's have a look at your friend."

The nurse checked Pietro's pulse, peeled back his eyelids to study the quivering eyeball beneath, then lifted Pietro's shirt and pressed gently around his stomach until he elicited a feeble groan from Pietro.

"From the symptoms you've described and the pain in his lower abdomen, I'm afraid it's a classic case of acute appendicitis."

Leorio blinked. "Appendi-what?"

"Acute appendicitis," the nurse repeated, more slowly this time. "Your friend needs to have an appendectomy. Now."

Leorio blinked, again unable to understand the meaning in the nurse's words.

"Pietro needs to have his appendix removed," the Brother explained now with some urgency. "It's a surgical procedure that can only be done by a surgeon in a hospital."

He felt his heart hammering in his chest, railing against his rib cage until it bruised and ached. "Surgery? Hospital? I…I have six hundred jenis. Is that enough? Can I pay for surgery with that?"

"The Sisterhood would do it for free if we had the right staff and funding here, but I'm afraid you can't get a surgeon to perform an appendectomy for a sum that he'd spend on lunch." Helpless, the Brother sighed, a weary and defeated sound. "How about you take your friend to the Emergency ward of the General Hospital…"

The Brother's voice trailed off as both he and Leorio shared a silent mutual understanding that offered no greater hope to Leorio. The General Hospital had long declared that they were underfunded, understaffed and underequipped. They ran out of anesthetic a month earlier, and were now attempting to recycle basic disposables like gauze and bandages. The Emergency wards were in reality just a transient step above a morgue where people sat waiting for help that was not available as they died by the inches.

Unable to bear the look of anguish and despair on Leorio's face, the Brother rose to his feet and dusted his pants. "Look, I've got a few contacts and know some doctors in the other charity organizations here in Judurur. I can ask around to see if any of them can perform an appendectomy. Keep your friend hydrated and wait for me here. I will see if I can get you some help."

So while Leorio waited for the Brother, whose name he didn't even catch, to return with the miracle cure to this horrible appendi-thingy disease, he bought the Brother's bottle of water to Pietro's lips every now and then and kept talking, about everything and anything, just to keep the awful quiet at bay.

"…and you remember the time when you distracted Big Jon and I clubbed him over the head with a spanner and we took back our earnings for the day and fled? Or how about the time when we made over two hundred jenis in one day selling key chains. Mizart is where we'll set up shop tomorrow. They've got plenty of rich tourists in that area, and afterwards, we can blow our day's earnings on a really good dinner. I want a can of coke and a big piece of meat like steak. We're going to help you get better, buddy, so you and I can team up again and make a killing out of those dumb tourists…."

The sonorous sound of bells tolling from the nearby church, striking six times, told Leorio that evening was approaching. Gradually, a brilliant streak of orange and gold light from the dusk poured past the still-open door, wreathing Pietro in its crimson glow as if he was already on his burning pyre.

For the first time that afternoon, Pietro opened his eyes, squinting at the brightness, then settled on Leorio. Invisible fingers wrapped themselves around Leorio's neck and began to remorselessly squeeze as he was struck by the dull lifelessness in his friend's gaze.

"I'm sorry, Leorio."

"Don't be stupid! I don't even know what you're talking about."

Pietro swallowed, and even that simple act appeared to cause him great pain. "I won't be selling keychains with you tomorrow, buddy."

"Oh yes you will, you lazy worm. You'll get up before me and have the stall set up and ready to go. Damnit, Pietro, we are a team!"

"I'm so sorry."

The burning suffocation of grief and fear inside him was so intense that his entire body shook in an effort to contain it, so much so it felt like he was going to fly apart. "Shut up! Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about. You'll be fine. That Brother's going to get you a doctor and he'll fix you up and we're going back to work tomorrow so we can pay back your surgery fees."

"The Brother is not coming back," Pietro sighed. From under the threadbare blankets, his hand reached out and gripped weakly onto Leorio's hand. "No one is coming. We are not worth their while."

"Shut up. He's coming back with a doctor and they'll take out your appendi-thingy."

For a while, there was nothing but the sounds of Pietor's labored and difficult breathing, and to Leorio's rising horror, no different to that of a dying animal gasping its last breaths.

"Leorio…"

"Pete..."

"I'm so sorry to leave you behind. I'm going to go now."

"No. No. Please. Don't. Stay. Please stay. Please don't go. Please."

Leorio didn't know if he was pleading with Pietro or the God of Death who was threatening to envelope his friend in his tattered shroud and whisk his soul away. But all his pleas fell on deaf ears as he realized Pietro's hand was clammy and cold and unresponsive.

"Leorio…" there was a sudden note of panic and fear in Pietro's voice. "What happens when you die?"

The question winded him like a solid blow to the gut. He put his arms around the sick boy, hugged him tight and rocked him back and forth in comfort. Hot, scalding tears began tumbling out of his eyes, landing on both his and Pietro's pallid cheeks.

"You go to a beautiful place. You get to live in a big house and have your own room. There are servants who bring you breakfast in bed. And a massive kitchen with food that never runs out. You get to eat whatever you want, whenever you want. You'll never be hungry. You won't have to work. You get to play all day, and when you are tired, the servants will have hot bath drawn for you and your bed is so huge you can roll all you want in your sleep, you still won't fall off."

Pietro drew in a shuddering breath. "….that…sounds nice."

"You will wear nice clothes, be warm during the winter and cool during the summer. And there'll be other children like us there. You'll make lots of friends and play soccer every day. You won't be alone. You will be happy every day."

"….every day?" a ghostly whisper.

"Every damn day," Leorio forced out with the brightest smile he could conjure despite the torrent of tears flooding down his cheeks. "No more pain, Pete. No more tears. No going hungry. No more fears about being chased down by Big Jon and his gang. No more worries about being kidnapped and sold off to the mines. You get to be a kid. Everyday's a party. Everyday is the best day of your life."

And with that, clinging onto the image of a paradise of neverending joy and happiness, Pietro slipped away.

Leorio continued to rock his dead friend's body in his arms until the Brother returned two hours later with a doctor in tow. With the help of the two adults, twelve year old Leorio buried his eleven year old friend.

**I-O-I-O-I**

"Mister! Hey, mister! Are you all right?"

"Huh? Wha?"

Disorientated, Leorio gasped, jolted out of his sleep and wildly cast his gaze all around as if his surroundings were all unfamiliar. Then, piece by piece, his jumbled thoughts fell back into place, and he remembered that he was not twelve, he was sitting in the first-class carriages of a blimp and Pietro's pain and suffering ceased almost a decade ago.

But his face was wet with tears, and more continued to leak from his eyes.

To his embarrassment, he had been crying in his sleep, and evidently loud enough for someone to come and rouse him.

"Here," a gentle pair of hands helped him upright and something velvet and soft tickled his nose. "Breathe in deeply."

Before he even knew what was being offered to him, he had inhaled a diaphragm full of the tantalizingly fresh and pure scent of a carnation that quieted the frenetic thudding of his heart and soothed away those deep, deep hurts from so many years ago.

"Thank you," he said in gratitude as he mopped his face dry and blew his nose resoundingly.

"Bad dream?"

"Uh…yeah," he replied, despondent and drained. If only it was as easy to escape one's past as waking up from a simple dream.

"Who's Pete? Your brother?"

Leorio stiffened, and properly studied the stranger who had woken him up and offered him a flower. A young woman with a head full of short and fine white hair that carried a tint of lilac, and a pale face dominated by a pair of violet eyes that were unfocused, clouded by smoky grey veil of cataract.

"You're blind," he remarked aloud before he could maintain a diplomatic silence.

To his relief, the girl did not take offence and simply continued to smile at him. "Partially. I see some things, and sometimes I am glad I cannot see others. Is Pete all right? You kept calling his name."

"He's dead," he said in clipped tones. There was a time, before he resolved to participate in the Hunter exam, when just thinking about the hot, dusty afternoon in that derelict shack with Pietro could reduce him into an incoherent, and ofttimes raging, mess. Through the passage of time, the pain in his heart numbed enough for him to not to speak of Pietro, but instead, of the fierce ambition that his friend's final breath had sparked in him, a blood oath to never let a life be lost for such pathetic, wretched reasons as money.

The stranger hefted to his nose again the curious flower with its ivory stem and faded electric purple petals so unlike the carnations Leorio was familiar with, and he was encouraged to breathe in its soothing scent. His muscles relaxed and he sank deeper into his first-class chaise, feeling light-headed as the angst dissolved.

"I'm sorry."

For some reason, that simple and heartfelt condolence irked Leorio and made him grit his teeth. Sorry wasn't what he wanted to hear. Sorry did nothing to help Pietro. Sorry simply let a poor kid with a common curable condition die. Sorry was how Pietro felt when his life was coming to an end and he had to leave Leorio behind. Sorry should be erased from the dictionary and never uttered again. "Until doctors and surgeons stop charging ridiculous fees beyond the reach of ordinary folk for surgery, or are willing to spend more time doing pro bono work in disadvantaged communities, children like Pete will continue to die utterly pointless deaths which could have been avoided."

"Not all doctors chase after the dollar. I know lots who work hard and for free," the girl in a small voice, like that of a young child chastised. She trained her blind gaze down to the hands clasped in her lap. "My cousin for example. I haven't seen him or the past three months. He's a doctor."

A wave of regret washed over him. He hadn't meant to unload his anger on her. "Yeah? And why haven't you seen him for the past three months?"

"Because he's in Sadun trying to get the Sisterhood's camp off the ground. He's got a satellite phone, but it's for emergencies and mum won't let me call him on it."

Leorio gripped the handles of his chaise and hauled himself upright, almost choking on his own spit in the sudden rush. Sadun was one of the most violent and volatile places on earth, a third world country trapped in its second decade of brutal civil war with a reported one million people internally displaced. International charities and humanitarian groups largely shunned Sadun and steered away from that conflict zone citing risk or lack of government cooperation. To Leorio, he merely saw it as a despicable excuse on part of those in a position to help but chose not to do so because it was Just Too Hard and would Cost Too Much.

Which was why Leorio had something of a man-crush, dangerously bordering on hero-worship, on Ilya Caladhin. A quiet, mysterious figure shrouded in legend and grandson of the reclusive Mother Superior of the Benevolent Sisters of Mercy, Ilya Caladhin had single-handedly established a mission in Sadun, the first foreign aid group in the past sixty years, and carried on the Sisterhood's vow of helping those in need, wherever they may be.

Another thought struck Leorio. "Ilya Caladhin is your _cousin_?"

"You have heard about my cousin?"

Leorio fought to regain his composure and articulate coherent, human words instead of juvenile sounds of awe and gushing reminiscent of teenage girl at a boy band concert. "Charity work is something I'm interested in doing when have completed my medical degree therefore I pay attention what aid groups around the world are doing. I'm a student at the Royal Avadé Medical College and I have been selected to do a twelve month internship with the Benevolent Sisters of Mercy. I was hoping there might be a chance for me to meet Dr Caladhin."

The stranger's mouth dropped in astonishment and she reached over to latch onto his arm. "_You_ are the intern who's going to be starting at the Mercy Hospital tomorrow?"

It was Leorio's turn to be astonished. He had read that Sumenca was a small, almost idyllic town in an equally small and idyllic country called Sibarnova, but surely the next intern at the local hospital wouldn't have been merited the status of local gossip. "And how would you know about the intern starting at the Mercy Hospital tomorrow?"

"Because Grandma Pepper was impressed by your application and personally picked you," the girl said as-a-matter-of-factly.

Leorio raised an eyebrow. "Who's Grandma Pepper…wait, hang on, if Illya Caladhin is your cousin, that means your grandmother is also Mother Superior Penelope Caladhin?"

"Titles," the girl rolled her eyes. "Grandma likes to keep it informal. I'm her granddaughter, Lilac. And you must be Leorio."

Under attack from a sudden rush and conflict of emotions, Leorio chose to keep quiet. The revelations took their time to sink in. He was mere hours away from Sumenca to embark on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of doing an internship with the Benevolent Sisters. And who could have woken him from the depressing dream about poor little Pietro but the Mother Superior's granddaughter herself.

Leorio didn't know if he was blessed or lucky or both.

The Benevolent Sisters may have started off in the third century as a bunch of honest and humble nuns, but today, with the protection of the Hunter Association personally bestowed by former Chairman Netero, the Sisterhood had become the most effective charity group in the world. Their courage saw them enter the most desperate and neglected corners of the world that the rest of humanity had forgotten so that they could bear a a torch of hope where light had long been extinguished the overwhelming darkness.

How could he ever forget the Brother who walked around Judurur all day in search of a surgeon until he had worn through the soles of his shoes and skin of his heels and had to limp back to the Sisterhood's camp, leaving bloody imprints on the dirt road, just to help a penniless boy and his sick friend?

He was about to describe his excitement and honour of being able to meet Lilac's grandmother when every cell in his being screamed 'danger' and he was pinned to his seat in fear as the largest bear of a man he had ever seen in his life stalked up and loomed over him.

Leorio gulped. His toes curled. The chivalrous part of him wanted to bodily shield Lilac from the stranger, but the fear induced paralysis rendered him limp and defenceless.

To his mortification, Lilac jumped to her feet and eagerly clung to the older stranger. "Dad!" she exclaimed, pulling him closer to Leorio so that Leorio was completely submerged in the bigger man's shadow, "this is the new intern who Grandma Pepper picked. Dad, this is Leorio."

The man gave a brusque nod. On closer, calmer inspection, Leorio found that Lilac's father was essentially a two-meter tall wall of steely muscle. The sight of his barrel chest and fists the size of saucepans alone would deter the most bloodthirsty of serial killers, and his nen, _gods_, his nen was like being exposed naked to the radiant rays of the sun and feeling your skin and flesh be stripped from bone. How on earth did such a brute of a man father such a dainty, delicate girl like Lilac?

Oblivious to Leorio's discomfort, Lilac continued to chatter enthusiastically, "Leorio knows about cousin Illu's work and wants to meet him."

The sharp look Lilac's father threw at him had the force and impact of a spear which could skewer a Great Stamp charging at full speed head on. "How you know Ilya?" he asked in broken, heavily accented Common.

Leorio jumped a little and shook his head in denial. "I don't _know_ him, I know _of_ him," he corrected hastily. "As I was telling Lilac, I am interested in doing charity work when I complete my medical degree and…"

The look Lilac's father gave him said quite plainly that he had lost interest in what Leorio was saying after the first sentence, but the scrutinizing, penetrating violet gaze continued to set Leorio on edge. "You look familiar," he interrupted Leorio, forcing a change in the direction of the conversation. "I see you on television. Not movie star. Very recent."

"Err," Leorio scratched his cheek, now feeling the flush and heat of embarrassment. "That must have been the live broadcast of the Hunter Association's election last year."

"Correct! You in finals. You foolish man hit two-star Hunter in front of everyone and want to save friend but bring girls to his apartment - "

Leorio buried his face in his hands desperately wishing that he could travel back in time to alter the past. His waffling speech and his appearance at the Hunter Association's headquarters during the election last year had come back to haunt him. Faintly, he heard Lilac's shy giggling and there was a soft, smug and condescending chuckle from her father. Then, Leorio felt a large bulk settle down next to him, a clear invasion of his private space, and it was Lilac's father, eyeballing him as if to say _you look at my daughter funny and I'm going to twist you in ways which can make a pretzel cry_.

Gulping and giving what he hoped was a deferential smile, Leorio prayed that he was going to make it to Sumenca alive.

**I-O-I-O-I**

Lilac had almost persuaded her father to give Leorio a lift to the apartment that his Medical School had arranged for him, but in the end, it was Leorio who declined. He wanted to explore Sumenca at his own pace, and to put as much distance between himself and the giant man as possible. It wasn't that Lilac's father was a literal giant (Buhara immediately came to mind), it was just that his presence could probably be felt within a five mile radius and standing right next to him was simply suffocating. Breaking out into a sweat from the constant pressure, Leorio wondered how Lilac could be so indifferent around her father's nen.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" Lilac waved at him as she got into the front seat of her father's car. Under natural sunlight, Lilac paleness made her appear even more willowy and insubstantial. It surprised Leorio that she was nearly as tall as him and looked to have just reached the final phases of her growth spurt. She had a boyish figure which was not helped by her short, flyaway hair or her choice of clothing. Had it not been for her father and his intimidating aura, her androgyny would have made her the victim of taunts and jeers. Clearly daddy's little princess, Lilac should have been clothed in soft cotton and cardigans. Instead, in a way which was unsettling on many levels, her dress sense was that of a delinquent teenage boy who favoured the dark hooded jacket, stiff cargo shorts and stylish trainers modified no doubt to be fitted with a steep cap.

Leorio squinted then rubbed his eyes as a sense of déjà vu, cold and enigmatic, shivered inside him. He couldn't put his finger on it and decided to ignore it in favour of exploring Sumenca, his home for the next twelve months.

The blimp had arrived in the middle of the day when the sun was high in the sky amidst a cerulean sea of cotton-ball clouds. There was a fresh sea breeze from the port and it added an extra kick to Leorio's brisk walk down main road. Sumenca was built along the River Sieer with an Upper and Lower town on both sides, separating merchants and businesses from the churches and residences. The city was preserved in all its medieval glory such that, apart from the intrusion of the occasion of an international fast food franchise sign, modern roads and traffic signals, you would've thought you had stumbled through a wrinkle in time.

The Mercy Hospital was located right next to the headquarters of the Benevolent Sisters of Mercy in the Upper town and Leorio was housed a convenient fifteen minute walk away. After he had settled into his single bedroom unit, a homely cottage fully furnished with every comfort that he could ask for, Leorio took to the labyrinth of narrow, winding laneways and streets, sampled the local delicacies and delights, and by dusk, stomach full of pastries and strong, sweet coffee, his feet took him towards the Church of Nanasse, the Sisterhood's patron Goddess of Mercy, in the Town Square.

His Lonely Planet guide book described the Church of Nanasse as one of the many world-heritage protected buildings in Sibarnova. Historians argued over when it was built, unable to agree whether it pre or post dated the fall of the Efalian Empire in the fifth century. What they could agree upon was that the goddess Nanasse was worshipped by a civilization which had long perished, but in that civilization's prime, the Church would have been held in the highest esteem.

Today, it was a quiet place for self reflection and contemplation. It had no priest but parishioners gathered on their own accord and sought peace and a connection with their humanity and compassion under the eternal and motherly gaze of the statute of Nanasse.

A blood chilling scream sucked the warmth out the waning rays of the sinking sun. Leorio instinctively turned towards the sound and flinched as another scream tore through the tranquil atmosphere, propelling Leorio to run towards the source of distress in the Town Square.

He was greeted by the roar and crackle of flames that spewed out horrid black smoke into the dusk sky. A blazing fire surrounded the iconic Church of Nanasse and it burned away with a fury which would consume the heritage building within minutes.

Close to the ring of fire, being restrained by a young boy was Lilac. Her face was smeared with soot and she grabbed at the air before her, reaching vainly towards the building as she sobbed hysterically.

"Senior Sister Ciane is still in there, Sasha. There are other worshippers too. We have to help!"

"My god, sis, you will be a pile of ashes before you even make it to the front door!" the boy who identified Lilac as his sister growled, dragging her further away from the flames and heat. "If anyone's going to charge in there, it definitely won't be you."

Helpless, Lilac crumpled to the ground and sobbed harder, rubbing until her eyes were red and raw. "Then _you_ do something. Call dad. Senior Sister Ciane and the others will die if we don't do something."

The boy looked at his sister with a touch of disbelief. Leorio judged him to be a year, maybe two, younger than Killua, and even if he had one tenth of Killua's abilities, the white-haired assassin would think twice about rushing into a firestorm.

But Lilac was right. Something had to be done.

As he activated his nen, Lilac and her brother both paused and looked up at him at the same time, Lilac with her misted eyes wide and glinting with a fey light, and her brother regarding him with a mix of curiosity and calculation.

_Oh_. The kid was not a stranger to nen-users.

"What is your ability?" he asked without bothering to beat around the bush.

Under normal circumstances, Leorio would have barked a laugh. The first rule of nen was not to talk about your nen.

Sasha didn't miss his moment's hesitance and scowled. "Are you serious about rescuing the people trapped in the church or not? If you are, tell me about your ability so I can put together a plan."

Leorio wanted to ask why, if anyone was going to put together a rescue plan, it would be a thirteen year old boy whose voice had not yet broken. The piercing violet glare that Lilac's brother pinned at him lacked the same force as his fathers but brooked no argument. Leorio simply replied, "I'm an emission user."

Seemingly satisfied with that brief answer, Sasha stared hard at the huge ancient iron and oak double doors at the front of the church which had become jammed in place because of the heat and had trapped the parishioners within.

"Can you break that from here?"

Leorio frowned. "If I break down those doors, you'll get a draft of oxygen rushing into the church and there'll be a flashover. Everyone inside will fry before we can even call out their names."

"I can…" the boy's voice trailed off. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, sounding uncertain, still staring hard at the main impediment which was preventing the worshippers inside the building from being able to flee. He took in a deep breath and forced his voice to remain steady. "I can hold back the flames or break down the doors. I can't do both. But if you can break those doors down, I can delay the flashover by…forty five seconds, no, one minute. Yeah, one minute. Think you can get them all out in that time?"

"How many people are we talking about?"

"There are fourteen people inside, include Senior Sister Ciane. The last I saw, they had retreated to right wing."

Leorio shrugged out of his jacket, carelessly dropping it onto the ground, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. "Okay kid, I don't know how you are going to stop the flames, but I'll do as much as I can in the one minute that you're going to buy me." He balled his right hand and willed his nen to gather in his fist until it felt like he had poured every ounce of energy into it and his fist shook under the buildup of pressure, nen eager to be unleashed.

"Sis, look after me will you? And you," he addressed Leorio as he hopped onto his sister's back and slung his arms loosely about her neck. "Do a five second count down aloud and attack on zero. You'll then see a clear path into the church."

"And then I get one minute. Got it."

It felt strange, placing his trust in a boy he'd just met and hardly knew other than that he was Lilac's brother and he had a girly name. What his nen ability was, how he would be able to rein in the raging inferno, whether he could really give Leorio the precious sixty seconds to evacuate the people trapped inside were all unexplained. And the frightening thing was that his own life and safety would depend on answers that the boy did not give.

He banished these thoughts from his mind. Any lingering doubts would reduce the efficacy of his attack and he had to focus on clearing a path into the building.

Leorio stole one final glance at Sasha and found the boy was piggy backed on his sister, but he was limp and unconscious and only his sister tight grip under his legs kept him from slipping to the ground.

Thinking no more of it, he counted aloud, and on zero, his fist connected with the ground. He felt his nen depart in a rush, snake through the ground, erupt back onto the surface and then slam into those massive front doors.

The wood and iron exploded on impact, drawing cries of wonder and alarm from others in the Town Square who had retreated back to a safe distance. Leorio concentrated on the entrance, and sure enough, the flames stilled and parted, forming a tunnel, and the dreaded flashover within the church did not eventuate.

Leorio charged into the building. It was surreal as he passed by flames that were unmoving and gave off no heat. He expected his skin to bubble and blister, his unprotected eyes to sting and water from the smoke, but there was none. He clambered past the splintered remains of timber and stumbled into the dark, nearly tripping over what he thought was a beam which had caved in.

He was about to kick it aside when he noticed that his feet were making wet, squelching sounds as he walked. That was when he discovered he was standing right in the middle of a large pool of blood and had mistaken a pile of three corpses as the roof beam.

Senior Sister Ciane was identified by the dark navy wimple and habit. She and the parishioners were crowded behind the statute of Nanasse on the west side of the hall. Elsewhere, the church was in ruins with great slabs of rock and marble blackened, cracked and overturned, the altar desecrated by another two dead bodies, and the charred remains of pews torn apart and thrown about like broken toys.

And prowling around the statute was a hound-like creature from the abyss. It was the size of a mini bus with four muscular legs that were thick as tree trunks and ending in claws the size and savagery of meat cleavers. Its mouth was crammed with serrated teeth like knives and tendrils of smoke curled from its flared nostrils. The creature's ragged hide seemed to glow with an abhorrent, inner darkness not of this world.

It thundered towards the statute and launched itself at the cowering parishioners. The entire building shook as the creature collided into an invisible barrier and was repelled. Snarling, it shook his head and prepared to charge again.

Leorio knew what he had to do.

Shouting out a challenge at the creature, he drove his nen-charged fist into the ground. A spike of pain shot up his arm, making him winced, but despite the pain, he closely watched as his nen shot up from the ground at the hound's feet and smashed into its jaw.

It sent the creature flying all the way towards the altar but it found its feet with the unnerving grace of a cat and appeared largely unharmed. Red eyes glowed, ancient, malevolent and corrupt, and its growl sent shivers of icy dread into Leorio's every muscle, almost succeeding in driving away his courage.

Leorio swallowed hard. The sixty seconds on the clock were ticking down and there was no time to think. It was clear that the survivors could not flee as long as this beast still targeted them. He had to draw it away and hold it back to allow Senior Sister Ciane and the rest of the parishioners time to flee. And if by any chance he were to come into contact with those teeth or claws, he suspected no protection from his _ren_ was going to save him from disembowelment.

If it was to a battle to be fought at a distance, his emission abilities gave him an advantage.

Without giving the beast any more time to assess the situation, Leorio knelt down on one knee and began to repeatedly bash his fists into the ground while screaming for Senior Sister Ciane and the others to run.

His nen rocked the earth, ripped through stone and marble, sent up showers of broken masonry and pummeled the beast-hound farther and farther back. His vision began to turn to white from pain as he heard the phalanges in his hands fracture and crack under the repeated strain of his ever weakening attacks. The beast was inexorably closing in on Leorio and the sustained blows dealt by Leorio seemed to do little damage other than to ruffle its coat.

The creature relentlessly lunged at Leorio, and it was now close enough for Leorio to smell the sulfur and rank in its breath together with a whiff of his own mortality.

Panting hard, feeling sweat slide down his face and drip off his chin, Leorio strained against his very limits to draw out that miracle which would see him come out of this encounter alive. He couldn't die yet. It was not his time to die. There were still things he had to do.

_- I can hold the fire for another ten more seconds. You need to get out! – _Sasha's panicked voice rang inside his head.

Leorio let loose a cry of desperation and rage and reached deep within himself for the essence of life itself. Perhaps he was tripping on the edge of delirium, but a surge of nen not his own surged through his body, white hot and potent, waiting to be shaped by his will. And in his mind's eye, he instantly visualized a spear, crackling with power, able to pierce through nightmares and despair. Spurred on by the foreign energy, he wound back his arm, and as the creature leapt at him all teeth and claws, Leorio thrust the spear into its gaping maw, rammed it down its throat and flinched as black ink and shadows hissed from the wound.

Leaving the hound writhing on the ground, Leorio turned and fled through the collapsing tunnel of flame. He crashed onto the cobbled pavement outside just as the building imploded, his legs giving out from underneath him as he succumbed to exhaustion, and the excruciating pain from his broken hands made him shiver and groan aloud.

Hands were on him, helping him up to his feet. He was dimly aware of shouts of "make way" and "give this man some air" and also whoops and cheers and applause.

**I-O-I-O-I**

Leorio couldn't recall how he got there, but when he woke up, he was in a dimly lit, cosy room with walls of unadorned bluestone except for an old, faded print of women in white robes poised beside an ornate fountain. A plate of food had been prepared and placed on his bedside table. He was about to pick up the fork when he gasped as pain travelled up his arms like electricity all the way to the back of his skull and made his teeth chatter.

Looking down, he discovered that his hands were tightly wrapped in splints and bandages and there was a needle tucked under his skin and hooked up to the IV drip.

Leorio fell back into his pillows and sighed. This was not how he envisaged his internship would start.

A quiet knock at the door roused his attention, and he managed to utter a 'come in'.

An older man, in his late fifties or early sixties, stepped in without a sound. His waist-long brown hair was unkempt and streaked with grey which a diligent man keen to maintain a respectable appearance would have dyed. He wore bottle-thick glasses which obscured his eyes and made it hard for Leorio to tell what the man was thinking. Clinging onto his arm was the familiar face of Lilac, albeit without the luster of her shy smile and was pinched with fatigue and worry.

"Up already. As expected," the older man commented, tone dour. Leorio raised an eyebrow and reached for the glass of water at this bedside table, then realized he had to cup it with both hands in order to lift it and hold it steady.

"Here, let me help you with that." Lilac moved towards his bed, but with her blindness, she ended up fumbling the glass and spilling half the contents onto Leorio.

"Lil, you're not here for that. Give the man some pain killers and we'll get to work on fixing up his hands."

Leorio held up his bandaged appendages. "You're going to fix this? How?" Even if he applied his nen and strictly kept his hands still, it would take upwards of three weeks for all the bones to set.

From her bag that was slung on her shoulder, Lilac produced a boquet of daffodils the colour of burnt gold with inky black stems. As Leorio inhaled its musky fragrance, he felt his eyelids droop his breathing and heart rate slowed down, and the pain begin to recede.

"Careful," the older man pulled Lil's hand and the flower away. "That's the 'Grace of Celeste'. Its fragrance alone is a powerful sedative that also temporarily numbs pain. Too much of it will kill you though. Put it in a vase, Lil, and let's concentrate on Leorio's hands." He tilted his glasses and Leorio blinked and few times. It looked like the lenses thickened and thinned with each adjustment although how he couldn't say. "Sweet Somira, that's quite some damage," the man continued. "Did you think your hands were disposable mallets or something? I'm seeing over a hundred hairline fractures, sixteen clean breaks, ruptured ligaments…"

The bandages and splints came off. Leorio winced at the sight of his ruined hands, two swollen and unrecognizable lumps of mottle of black, purple and red. Three weeks may have been an overly optimistic estimate.

"When you're up against something that looks like cerberus' cousin, you're kind of more concerned about staying alive."

The older man paused in mid examination and would have held Leorio's gaze had Leorio been able to see him through the milky whorls of the glasses. "Other witnesses also mentioned a creature," he began slowly. "It was dark. They were frightened. People were dying. No one got a good look. Are you saying you could describe the beast that you saw?"

"I could even draw it for you if you like. I'm no zoologist, but that animal didn't look like it was from around here or anywhere near here."

"And what makes you say that?"

Leorio snorted and then winced as the stumps that were his fingers spasmed. "Because I used to think that while we may all look different on the outside, we all bleed the same red blood. Seeing black…_stuff_ ooze from that _thing_ makes me suspect that it's not normal. I sent that creature flying again and again with my hits and all that did was slow it down. My attacks can punch through a three inch thick steel wall. No animal's that tough."

"Sounds like a nen construct," Lilac hesitantly suggested. She reached and brushed tentative fingers over Leorio's swollen hands and made a small sound of distress. "Senior Sister Ciane says you fought bravely and protected them with a shield. You saved a lot of people today, Leorio."

Leorio frowned. "As much as I would love to take credit, that shield was already up _before_ I got there. It had nothing to do with me. I thought your Sister Ciane was a nen user."

Lilac shook her head. "Senior Sister Ciane knows nothing about nen. She – "

"Enough, Lil. We can talk about that later. What do you have for the bone and muscle damage?"

From the utility belt and its multiple pouches strapped around Lilac's slender waist, she firstly withdrew a single red berry and pressed it to Leorio's lips.

"The Fruit of Hesperides. Eat it. It will restore your energy."

Leorio tentatively bit down and was met with a burst of flavor and the zing of life as it rushed down his throat and replaced the bone-deep ache in his muscles with renewed strength.

"Wow," he spluttered, sitting bolt upright in bed. "That's amazing. I feel like I can run a marathon and not break a sweat."

Lilac beamed with pride. "And this is Aceso's Balm." A jar containing a light beige-coloured cream was opened, fresh bandages dipped in them, then wrapped around Leorio's injured hands again. He expected it to be cold and wet, but upon skin contact, it was warm, and then the warmth became a not unpleasant heat which seeped under his skin and burrowed deep into the muscles and joints. "If you enhance it with your nen, your hands should be as good as new by tomorrow night."

"Thank you," Leorio managed to stutter, still marveling at the effects of the balm on his hands.

"Lil's got an _aptitude_ for growing your not so common plants which her mother, Lavender Borodin, the resident Potions Master, turns into all sorts of wonderful and terrible elixirs. Lil volunteers on most afternoons at the Mercy Hospital in the palliative ward, but starting tomorrow, I'll ask Lil to spend some time and teach you some of the properties of her more commonly used plants."

The name Lavender Borodin made Leorio suck in a deep breath. There was the mainstream, traditional practice of medicine and pharmacy, and then there was the fringe, unorthodox arts such as alchemy which attracted all sorts of ridicule at the Medical College. However, no one laughed at the name of alchemist extraordinaire, Lavender Borodin, who was wildly reputed to have concocted the draught of living death and distilled ambrosia, the brew of eternal youth, the ultimate triumph of life over death.

Leorio stared hard at the older man before him, who had been able to accurately determine the extent of the injuries to his hands without the aid of xrays and other imaging, just by the simple twitch of his glasses. He couldn't believe his own words as they tumbled out. "And you must Dr Russet Caladhin, the miracle worker who can diagnose any illness under the sun, and those that have never seen the light of day."

The brown-haired man's mouth pressed into a tight line, but the rising of his eyebrows suggested he was impressed. "And you're quite observant yourself. However, miracle worker title doesn't really sit well with me. Dr Caladhin will be fine, and when you get a chance to meet my sister, she'd prefer Mrs Borodin, or simply 'ma'am' will do."

It finally dawned on Leorio, the answer clear and simple. The legend of the peerless diagnostician and the grande alchemist. Even frail and willowy Lil, the unnatural florist. "You're all nen users."

"Yes," Dr Caladhin admitted simply with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Just like yourself. We are people with more than your usual talents who have applied them to the field of medicine to do those things which ordinary people can only dream of. And because nen makes us stronger, faster and more able than our uninitiated colleagues, we go to places they cannot go, and do things they cannot do. Are you following me?"

Leorio blinked as the words slowly seeped through the bewilderment and clarity broke through in his mind with the light of the glorious rising sun. "You...you want to send me to Sadun?"

"My mum will fill you in on the details of the proposal when you see her in the morning, but she wanted me to see how you would react to the suggestion. She was concerned with rejection; I was thinking hesitation, but _deliriously happy_ was not exactly on my list either."

Rejection? Deliriously happy? Sure, there was a wide grin stretched across his face so tightly that his muscles ached and his shoulders had tensed and shook with what must be excitement, but the swell of emotions in him was crested by a _vindication_ that he had come to the _right_ place to be with the _right_ people who could help him make his humble dreams formed that miserable day eight years ago into a reality.

"Kid, I hope you understand that it won't be a picnic in Sadun where you get to sit in air-conditioned rooms all day and have state-of-the-art equipment at your disposal with never-ending supplies," Dr Caladhin continued, voice skeptical and dismissive as he folded his arms across his chest. "It's going to be hard, thankless, unrewarding work which means little in the grand scheme of things and which I can assure you the rest of the world doesn't care about or will give you kudos for."

With a snarl, Leorio launched himself upright and bared his teeth at the indignity in that unspoken accusation, his entire body taut like wire stretched and about to snap. "You think I'm some idealistic twit who thinks he can change the world simply by talking about it, or some callous prick who's looking for _praise_? You think I want to be _anything_ like those bastards at Global Mission who were too busy with their media event and their celebrities and their promotional posters than to see to my dying friend?" He flung aside his bed covers in a huff, leapt off the bed and rounded on the older man, startling Lilac so that she cowed behind her uncle. "Where's the Mother Superior! I want to see her now and show her where she can stick that doubt of hers. Rejection? Afraid of hard work? Ha! Tell her that I completed the friggin _Hunter Exam _just so I could be a doctor. Tell her – "

"I am right here. What do you wish to tell me, Leorio?"

Leorio instantly felt drained of his chagrin, his rage quenched by a tranquil peace. He blinked and stared at the petite figure of an old woman by the doorway, garbed in a spartan navy frock and a mantle of still grace. Her aura undulated calm serenity like the gentle lapping waves on the beach. She was the mother of all lost children and a refuge for broken and shattered souls. She radiated compassion and love and withheld it from no one.

For the second time that day, tears came unbidden to his eyes and he blinked and quickly wiped them away with the coarse linen of his bandages. He released a tremulous breath and his shoulders slumped in defeat as the fight in him was utterly extinguished.

"I grew up in the slums of Judurur in Ameviya, Madame Caladhin," he began woodenly, staring at the floor and prepared to lay his soul bare. "The streets were mean, and our lives meaner. I am a hard man, and the poverty, the neglect, the indifference couldn't break me. But I've seen it…" he voice faltered, so he clenched his teeth and gritted out his confession, "I've seen it break others. So many others. Most of them children. Kids who never got a chance to be kids. Kids who'll never get a chance to grow up. Is it so hard, just so hard, to believe that I want to be doctor and make a difference, however, slight? This isn't about the accolades or the recognition. My rewards will be a job well done. Is that so hard to believe?"

The Mother Superior guided him back to the bed where he mechanically sat down as the backs of his knees bumped against the edge. She cupped his face with both her hands, warm, tingling with a mysterious power that unshackled the dead weights and burdens weighing down his heart, and stared deep into his eyes with her own. Eyes burning with a bright, unquenchable flame that seared his soul with unshakeable conviction.

"Even in the darkest moment of your life, you did not yield to despair or relinquish hope."

"Pete's dead," he said, and she thumbed away another tear. "He's dead, but I won't allow it to be in vain. I won't let his death mean nothing, otherwise his life will have been nothing."

She pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. "Welcome to the Sisterhood, Leorio. I hope you'll feel right at home here."


	3. Interlude: The Beginning

**TITLE:** **PANDORA'S LEGACY**

**AUTHOR**: Yomi

**RATING:** T

**Disclaimer:** Hunter x Hunter is copyrighted by Yoshihiro Togashi, Shounen Jump Weekly, Shueisha and Nippon Animation

**SUMMARY:** (Post Chimera Ant arc) Following a long standing agreement with his father, Illumi has retired and left Kukuru Mountain, sworn never to work as an assassin again. Despite Illumi's determination to lead a new life, old acquaintances, extended family, and the powers that be, just won't let him rest yet - not when some madman's finally fallen off the ledge and threatens to bring the world on a collision course with mutually assured destruction. Pandora's Legacy, whatever that is, may be able to save them all, and against his will, Illumi is dragged in with everyone to search for it in time before it's too late.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Thanks for all the reviews, especially your insightful ones, BigSeed. Lazytologin, your review was humorous made me laugh. TCL, appreciate your support and thank your views. I'm sorry to hear you didn't like Lilac, but I'm afraid she's here to stay for a while. I'll work on her character some more and hope you'll give her another chance.

This chapter concludes the last of the 3 storylines in this fanfic – Illumi's new life away from the Zaoldyecks, Leorio's ongoing efforts to be a doctor, and the Spider's head-on collision with Jairo and his new religion, all of which will somehow get in each other's way in the end. I hope readers will stick with me on this way all the way to the end. As always, feedback and reviews are most welcome and appreciated.

**I-O-I-O-I**

**Interlude – the Beginning**

Jairo had lived, died, and been reborn. And through this process of death and rebirth, he had come to see the world differently.

When he was twelve, he thought he had an epiphany which put everything in perspective. He was an insignificant speck, living an ephemeral life in a transient world which had not paused to observe his birth or stopped to acknowledge his death. He held no meaning to the world as he was meaningless. Despite all the pain and suffering he had endured in the early years of his childhood, there was simply no _point_.

In retrospect, his plans and endeavours as the Shadow-Don of NGL, the D Drug, the other schemes that he had for weapons smuggling and human trafficking, were all just his amateurish attempt at creating some _significance_ for himself in a world which would otherwise continue as if he didn't exist. His goal had been to spread evil, create so much of it so it could no longer be ignored, so that _he _could no longer be ignored, and at that point in time, people would finally begin to attribute _meaning_ to him.

After all, in the Kreeg legends, Achilles opted for a short and glorious life where his name would be celebrated for centuries thereafter over a long, uneventful existence. The moral of the story was that the great Kreeg hero fought to give his life and his existence some value and leave an indelible mark on the shifting sands of time.

But how wrong he was, how wrong Achilles was, to think that one man such could make an impact in this world, to think that one man could strive to have assigned to him meaning and worth.

His thinking had been flawed, and it should have been obvious to him from the start. He grew up on the construction sites, making concrete, stacking bricks and watching them applied and built into great towering structures.

He was a brick. One brick in a wall. One wall in a building. One building in a town. One town in a province. One province in a country. One country on the continent. One continent on this planet. One planet in this galaxy. One galaxy in this universe.

Of course he was insignificant! He was one man! He couldn't achieve anything of worth as an individual because a single brick is worthless.

Meaning and value was therefore to be derived from the multitude of the masses! A King and his kingdom was not one person, not a single entity, but a conglomeration of many!

Having lost NGL, Jairo researched like mad, voraciously reading through history, politics, philosophy and religion. Surely he could not have been the first person to have arrived at this divine _truth_, that meaning was not the starting point but the ultimate conclusion.

Finally, Jairo found the answer he was looking for in an obscure time in history overlooked by most academics while others who did pay any attention questioned its historicity and debated whether it was myth rather than fact. One of the most powerful ancient civilizations on earth supposedly dominated a third of the known world from 800 to 400BC. Some legends recall that the Maladium Empire originated from the frost covered northern reaches of the Danes mountains and their kings conquered their way down the continent south to the Mediterranean islands and strongholds of the old Euphiad states.

The Maladium Empire, allegedly an autocratic theocracy, had built thousands of large temples and monasteries throughout the lands they conquered, although not even the most renowned Archaeological Hunter had been able to turn up a single ancient ruin or artifact to prove the existence of these temples and churches. According to the legends, Exalted Priests in this era harnessed the rituals, prayers, and devotions of hundreds of thousands of faithful to invoke Powers and Dominions who worked miracles that tested the very limits of man's imagination and accomplished things which an individual could never hope in dreams to achieve.

To Jairo, his raison d'etre was clear. God didn't create humans and left it up to them to discover their purpose and reason for existence. The collective will of men led to the creation of gods, and in turn, the gods _became _the meaning and significance to mankind.

Arriving at this glorious truth bought tears to Jairo's eyes and his soul quivered with joy at the enlightenment.

It all made sense now. Jairo found his new purpose. He was going to follow in the footsteps of the Maladium Empire and _introduce_ meaning to this meaningless world. Beings of power were going to walk the earth again and Jairo looked forward to them bestowing _purpose_ in this random creation of chaos.

Once Jairo had established his new goals, he settled down in Meteor Street to build his new empire. Meteor Street had recently been ravaged by the Chimera Ant attacks and was still engaged in the pitifully early stages of rebuilding. During the city-state's direst hour, its denizens turned towards its Ruling Council for guidance. Displaying gross ineffectualness, the Ruling Council failed its people and had turned a blind eye to the realities on the ground, choosing instead to preoccupy itself with academic questions such as whether the human-turned-ants were to remain classified as 'human', and whether retribution ought to be sought from the queen of the ants.

Distressed, grieving for the dead, lost for direction and grappling for answers in the meaningless quagmire of senseless death of indiscriminate destruction, Jairo began to preach his new world view on the streets and soon began to win tens, then hundreds, then thousands of converts within the city-state of Meteor Street.

Bunkered down in the squalid basement of a former prison which was now occupied as make-shift apartments by the poorest of the poor in amongst the vast junkyards of Meteor Street, Jairo set up his new church to the Intransient Beings. Everyday, he led his new parishioners in the ancient rituals where they spilled blood, stamped their feet for hours on end until the skin on the soles of their feet broke and the floor was a wet mottle of squelching crimson, and screamed out their fears and insecurities to force the deaf world to listen and take notice, because if it didn't, someone else, _something_ else would.

And then one day, something from the eternal dark heard their prayers.

**I-O-I-O-I**

"Hey! You! Yes, you! Have you paid your respects to The Ferryman?"

"Have you expressed your admiration for her Lady at the End of Time? Queen Dusk?"

"Join us! Join the Lord of Dreams that Terrify! Here! Take this pamphlet and get to know the terrible and mighty Lord!"

An evangelist with a crazed look in his eye which suggested he was tripping on half a dozen brands of acids and hallucinogens thrust a sheaf of a tracts in Phinx's face as the Spider tried to keep to himself by jamming his hands into his pockets and walking with aggressively hunched shoulders and a snarl on his face which all but screamed 'stay the hell away or I will hurt you in unimaginable ways'.

Yet the street preachers still swarmed on him like bees to honey.

He shoved the crazy-eyed preacher back and bared his teeth. "Piss off! Stick that garbage in my face again, and I will be so mighty and terrible that your silly Lord of Dreams will run crying home to his mommy!"

"Sacrilege!" the preacher spluttered, causing large goblets of spit to land on Phinx' cloak, much to the Spider's infuriation. "Heresy! _Heresy!_" he continued with escalating frenzy. "How dare you offend the Almighty Lord. He shall condemn you for your insubordination! Your children will be born with no eyes. Your family shall die hideous deaths – "

Phinx' savage uppercut sent the preacher sailing a good ten meters down the road and man lay still when he landed in a crumpled heap right in the middle of the footpath. But hardly anyone paid attention as they were so absorbed in proselytizing their newfound faith and religion. Phinx took in the farcical scene in front of him where both sides of the street were lined with doomsayers and would-be prophets yelling and heckling anyone who wasn't infected with the crazies to join them.

He shook his head in disgust. _What on earth is Meteor Street turning into? I take my eye off this place for a couple of months, and organized religion is suddenly the flavor of the day?_

A young girl dressed in rags held together by tattered stitches blocked his path, her emaciated frame spread wide as she stared at him with wide eyes sunken into sockets of a face utterly starved of nourishment. Her teeth were rotten yellow and even from a good meter away, Phinx could smell her rank breath that carried the pungent whiff of decay.

"Her Ladyship Dusk invites you to join in her cabal tonight so we can all dance and sing her praise until her legs collapse and our voices give out."

"The mental asylum is _that_ way. Now scram!"

They all seemed impervious to his threats, and he pushed past her, but her knobbled, skeletal fingers clung with unnatural strength to his forearm and underneath the warm layers of clothing, Phinx's skin broke into gooseflesh and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

_Is there some drug epidemic that I'm not aware of? Or has Meteor Street become the largest crackpot house in the friggin world? _He shook himself out of the momentary stupor and pried her fingers off, his mind going numb as she kept smiling banally at him even as her brittle bones in her hands snapped under the slightest pressure.

He roughly shoved her away and picked up the pace, his eyes glued only to the patch of ground before his feet, swearing not to talk to another deranged lunatic trying to offer him salvation through perverted superstitions. However, his keen ears picked up the footsteps of a dozen well trained guards closing in from the distance, and he got the nasty suspicion that they were coming right at him.

Twelve guards and a Squad leader.

"You there, halt!"

_Just keep walking and they'll convince themselves they have the wrong person._

At the sound of safety triggers being released and chambers being loaded, he stilled. Very slowly, and with unnatural calm that can only be borne at the height of absolute fury, he turned around to see what idiots had dared to point their guns at him in broad daylight.

The thirteen men wore the underlying uniform of the Ruling Council's soldiers, but there were emblems from the new religions stitched on to their lapels. Being on the streets for five minutes since he returned, he had already recognized them. The broken tower was the symbol for Queen Dusk. The followers of the Ferryman all carried burned out candles and The Lord of Dreams that Terrify's acolytes wore rusted iron pendants depicting a jester's mask perverted into an expression of terror.

_So are these the Council's soldiers or do they now answer to the churches?_ he wondered, armouring himself in a sturdy layer of _ken _and regarded the squadron leader with a cool air of nonchalant disregard for authority.

"I bear a decree from the Council!"

Phinx smirked and took a step forward towards the pack of soldiers, a deceptively simple action which carried many implied threats of serious bodily harm if they made him take another step towards them. It was satisfying to watch as the soldiers fell back as one and shot questioning looks at their squad leader.

"By…by order of the Council," the squad leader bravely tried to continue, albeit his voice at an octave higher, and avoiding Phinx's lava hot glare by ducking behind the parchment held up in his hands, "you, Shalnark, are under arrest for breach of security and ulawful intrusion upon Council's database systems and – "

"Oh for fuck's sake, what part of me looks like Shal?"

"Huh?"

Phinx palmed his forehead. _They can't even arrest the right people these days?!_ "I'm not Shal, so wet your pants, get your diapers changed and beat it before I lose my temper!"

"Um...would you happen to be Kuroro then?"

_Dancho is now a wanted man in Meteor Street too? Since when?_ He testily shook his head.

"Shizuku?"

"She's a girl!" he snapped.

"Then you must be Franklin!"

"No, but he is standing right behind you."

"Ha!" the squad leader laughed, although it didn't sound very convincing, "You think I'm stupid enough to fall for the oldest trick in the book? Franklin, by order of the Council, you are to submit yourself to the Star Chamber for interrogation by the Inspector General on grounds of your suspected involvement in the assault of fifteen – "

Without any warning, the squadron leader's head exploded like overripe fruit. There was a delayed reaction among the rest of the troops, and when it finally hit home that their leader's brains had been casually splattered all over the pavement (and bits and pieces on their uniform), they recoiled and cried out in various degrees of fright and disgust.

One by one, their heads and upper bodies were all blown to bits by a sharp, explosive fusillade of electric blue nen.

Phinx rolled his eyes. "I told you he was right behind you."

"I guess that brings the number up to twenty seven now," Franklin said good humouredly. He ambled up to the decapitated corpses and peppered the rest of the bodies with holes until the twelve bodies were simply an ugly red mess in the middle of the road.

Franklin noticed Phinx's inquisitive look. "Things have changed around here."

"No shit. What the hell has happened? Since when did Meteor Street want to sing praises of this dickwad Ferryman?"

Frankin held a finger to his lips and quickly steered Phinx away from the growing crowd, leading him down the labyrinthine back alleys of the industrial sector. The bigger man didn't drop relax his guard until they cosied up in one of their favourite haunts, a sullen and outwardly unwelcome place known as the Plastic Madonna.

Mulling over aged scotch in cracked glasses at the far end of the bar, Franklin quickly filled Phinx up to date.

"We believe the Ruling Council has been compromised."

"You think?" Phinx said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "I know those old fogeys don't approve of the Genei Ryodan but they never get in our way. They're smart enough to know not to mess with us, let alone send an up-start and his barely toilet trained pre-school toddlers to take on a Spider. So what's up?"

Franklin contemplated draining his scotch in one go and had raised it halfway to his lips but decided against it midway and gently placed the glass back on the bench. "Details are sketchy. Dancho has recently been coordinating raids on the restricted sections of the library, the main servers and database, and the Star Chamber to get more information."

"That sounds a bit extreme. Is Dancho itching to put his neck on the chopping block?"

"Potentially extreme times call for equally extreme measures."

"So what do we know? I mean, do we at least know who's pushing for this trend towards brainwashing cults? I thought the Council doesn't tolerate any other organization who could hold as much power or authority as they do."

"Dancho suspects that the Council is supportive of the new religions that have cropped up. Do you know much about them?"

Phinx finished his drink, pulling a face as heat seared down his throat, and ordered another. "Duh – they're all delusional nutjobs who are giving Meteor Street a bad name."

"Seriously – "

"Okay, okay, I'm treating this seriously. There are three of them, correct?"

"Yes. The worship of the Ferryman, the Lady at the End of Time and Lord of Dreams that Terrify. The Unholy Trinity."

Phinx crossed his arms and stroked his chin and mused on the names. "I'm not a scholar on religions, but they aren't your conventional deities. Is it a newly made up fad? Or is it some new-age revival of some obscure pagan belief?"

"Shal, Machi and Shizu have been looking into that. Dancho reckons the best source of information isthe ancient tomes in the restricted areas of the Library. The Council now bars anyone from accessing that area unless they have its express, written permission bearing their wax seal."

"Ah, first cut off their access to information and cripple their inquisitive minds, and then they will be your perfect slaves forevermore."

"Knock it off, Phinx, this isn't a laughing matter. We've noticed the Council is starting to hunt down and kill opposition groups that have objected to the emergence of these new religions. The sensible ones say it ruins the image of Meteor Street and our long-held creed of _independence_, but these sensible people now have a habit of disappearing overnight."

"_Die on your feet rather than live on your knees_. Hasn't that always been the motto around here? Why has the Council turned Gestapo on the people?"

Franklin grumbled. It was clear he too only held bits and pieces of the answers and was personally dissatisfied with the fractured narrative. "Dancho is working on that. I don't know how he's doing it, but Karuto, that little sneak, has somehow managed to bug the Star Chamber and Feitan has kidnapped some of the Councillor aides."

"And how successful has our dear resident torturer been in obtaining confessions?"

Franklin shook his head, his voice bleak. "None. For once in my life, there's something out there which frightens these people more than Feitan's sadistic techniques. No one's talking."

Phinx couldn't deny the budding curiosity within him. It was like hearing half the story and needing to know the rest. "So…we have nothing then?"

"Dancho wrote prophecies for these aides but there was nothing worthwhile in them. Our best sources of intel are Karuto and Shal at the moment. I think Dancho wants to coordinate some more complex operations, so he's sent out the call for everyone to meet here. They should be here soon. Have a quick scan through the Decree if you want to know how all this madness started."

The Decree that Franklin tossed to him was almost the size of a phone book, and Phinx suspected the phone book would have made better reading. Titled "_Decree Number 256 – Compulsory Membership in Meteor Street's Three Official Religions_" it required all residents of Meteor Street to be involved in the new faith. Failure to provide proof of membership with any one of the new religious establishments would result in denial of family benefits, housing assistance and rations. On the other hand, new devotees would have access to a generous, wide new range of financial assistance and priority on both the employment and community housing lists. Furthermore, each of the new churches will receive funding from the Council to establish their own Honour Guards to protect their faithful from future external threats such as the Chimera Ants.

"This is ridiculous. You can't make religion mandatory!"

"The Council says that they're just encouraging freedom of association," Franklin said dryly.

Phinx snorted. By way of protest, he doused the decree with his drink and struck a match, setting it alight."And what about my freedom _from_ association. I am already a member of an organization, and I consider myself to be a one organization guy," he said with as much heat as the bonfire he had just started at the bar. There was a smattering of applause in the background. Another thought occurred to him. "Wait…if not being a member of a church only means you don't get your food stamps and housing…"

"Got it in one. It was meant to be a carrot and stick approach for the lower classes, those who stand to lose the most if they can't demonstrate membership. For them, being able to get hand-outs and assistance from the Council is a matter of life and death. The middle and upper classes who couldn't care less about the priority lists have ignored the decree."

"But the middle and upper classes are in the minority. An extremely small minority," Phinx pointed out.

"It gets worse. Decree 256 is choc full of incentives for existing members to recruit more followers to the faith. The Ferryman, Queen Dusk and Lord of Dreams that Terrify are not exactly benign gods – they are using all the tactics that bear the hallmarks of an organized, militant religion on steroid overdrive in their aggressive conversion efforts."

_So that's why the streets are lined with preachers and evangelists carrying on like their lives depend on it._ Phinx shuddered at the memory of his earlier encounter with the deranged girl. "Have people so little pride that they'll sit, roll over, and bark like a dog with rabies just for money?"

"Don't be so harsh on them. For the poor, they had no choice. And you've got to admit, promising protection right after the Chimera Ants had been picking people off the streets and turning them into monstrosities has certain appeal to these people."

"Stop making excuses for them. By that logic, they should be worshipping _us_. We got rid of those damn ants afterall. Could this just be one big scam by the Council? They royally screwed up when the ants hit, and now they want to deflect people's questions by setting up these so-called faiths and punishing those who refuse to join?"

"That's what Dancho first thought. But if you think about this hard enough, the people who pose the greatest threat to the Council were never the poor. They are poor because they are powerless. If the Council really wanted to protect its position, it would be targeting the upper classes, the ones who operate the salvaging operations, and people like us who do as we please and couldn't spare a rat's fart for council decrees."

Phinx found himself grimacing at the complexity of politics. Always smoke and mirrors, mists and shadows, double dealing, triple dealing, words you can never truly believe, friends you could never trust. "Wish Dancho would hurry up and get here. Just spare me these social studies lectures and tell me who needs a good sucker punch to the solar plexis!"

Suddenly, the air was filled with the angry clatter of heavy military boots hurrying down the wooden steps into the bar, coupled with angry shouts of "_nobody move_!" and "_hands where I can see them!_"and patrons' startled screams. Tables were overturned, drinks spilled, people indiscriminately assaulted as a platoon of men, fanatics, all bearing the symbol of the Ferryman, made a small clearing around the two Spiders and pointed various projectile weapons at them.

Even the peace and sanctity of the Plastic Madonna had been violated.

Phinx grinned nastily and his blood warmed at the prospect of a fight. To give the platoon leader credit, he was unfazed and snarled at the pair.

"Feitan, Nobunaga, by order of the Council, you are hereby under arrest for the kidnap, false imprisonment and torture of dozens of – "

Franklin raised his right arm, making a grand spectacle of detaching the fingertips on his hand with a florid gesture. The soft tinkling of the chains as his fingertips were suspended in mid air was unnaturally loud, and every member of the platoon, including the platoon leader, watched with morbid fascination as a faint light begin to grow at the end of the five stumps .

Phinx shrugged, crossing his arms as Franklin stole his thunder by unleashing another barrage of nen bullets that tore through the men as if they were nothing but paper cutouts.

"The least they can do is get our names right," Franklin grinned and blew away the smoke from his fingertips.


End file.
